Chris Wristen

Sooooo … last weekend started with this view.

By capitalizing on a money credit with Frontier that was obtained through one of life’s more negative events, I was able to book a flight to Colorado and drop in for Nick’s 31st birthday bash in Pine.

First order of business: catch the first flight out of KC to Denver.

From there, I grabbed my rental car and headed to Denver where I met two of my old college roommates and their female counterparts for breakfast at the Jelly Cafe.

Then, it was time to run.

Running at Red Rocks Amphitheatre has been a bucket list item of mine for a few years, and thanks to a little inspiration from Katie I decided to make that happen.

It’s pretty impressive to see how many people pack Red Rocks to exercise. There are various classes going on, group workouts, and solo people training for a wide variety of events.

This guy was being a total BOSS.

My plan was to zig-zag up every row of seating inside, and then head out of the amphitheatre and run the surrounding trails, many of them still snow-packed.

Upon making my way inside Red Rocks, I noticed a guy dressed in a penguin costume, as well as various other folks dressed as Gumby, the Super Mario Brothers, etc.  It turned out a “Harlem Shake” had been organized to take place at Red Rocks right during the middle of my run.

So what the heck? I could use a rest break.

I logged six solid miles on my run, including finishing on the main stage back inside Red Rocks.

From there, it was off to Nick and Laurie’s for his birthday. It was great to catch up with a few of the other Colorado runners I haven’t seen in a while, as well as to meet some that I’ve been in touch with for about a year but hadn’t met in person.

We also got to investigate a product produced by one of the stars on one of our favorite TV shows.

As is the case with any trip to Colorado, there’s never enough time. I only had 36 hours. Saturday was packed with activities, while Sunday was spent finishing the draft of an article for a running magazine that should be published in the next month or so.

Soon, it was time to head home.

The sun had already gone down by the time my plane departed Denver, so I couldn’t see the mountains as we rose into the sky and headed back to KC.  That was OK, though, because I’ll be back … hopefully sooner than later.

Back when I was working part-time at a local gear shop to supplement my lack of income from the newspapers, I purchased a pair of snowshoes – the MSR Lightning Axis. Kansas City had been slammed by monster snow and ice storms during 2009 and 2010, so it seemed like snowshoes would be a handy investment.

Of course, 2011 came and went, and the only snow we had to show for it was a dusting that lasted about 15 minutes. My snowshoes sat by the front door for four months, eagerly awaiting their opportunity to be unwrapped and put to use.

Finally, on Thursday a storm rolled into Kansas City. Eight inches fell just outside my front door during a four-hour timeframe. Parts of the state had more than a foot. The city was brought to a standstill. Roads were a disaster.

I worked from home on Thursday, and that afternoon I finally got to utilize my snowshoes for four miles and 90 minutes around the neighborhood.

I tramped five more miles in the snowshoes on Saturday, and an additional five with Coleen, Erik, Deb, Stu, Debbie and Dave at Kill Creek Park.

Here are scenes from those three wonderful days of playing in the snow.

We woke up to this sunrise in the Chisos Mountains on Saturday, January 19. It was a view worth getting up early for. It has been condensed from 20 minutes into 20 seconds of beauty.

Darkness had long since fallen by the time we rolled into Big Bend National Park.

The black outlines of rolling hills soon turned into mountain peaks. We knew they surrounded us, even though we couldn’t yet see them. Those views would have to wait until morning, but the moon’s glow teased us plenty about the treasures that surrounded us.

Anyway, mountain views can wait when you’re being treated to one of the clearest night skies you’ve ever seen. It says a lot about a national park when some of its greatest beauty is found after dark. That’s the case with Big Bend, however. It’s proud of its designation as an “International Dark Sky Park” with the darkest night skies in the lower 48 states. Some of the best stargazing in the United States takes place at Big Bend for that very reason, and we were blessed with a clear, star-lit sky on the drive in.

By the time Erin, Katie and I checked into our cottage at Chisos Mountain Resort – the only non-campsite lodging available in the park – it was 10 p.m. and we were exhausted from about nine hours on the road. We went to bed anxious, however, knowing that the only thing more beautiful than the stars that night would be the sunrise we planned to wake up early for.

Alarms weren’t set, but we all woke up around 7:20 a.m. That gave me enough time to brush my teeth before we headed outside to see the sun rise. Morning at Chisos is an interesting thing. The lodge is situated in a valley at about 5,500 feet in the middle of the Chisos Mountains. As a result, the sky starts to lighten quite a bit before you actually see the sun. That helps build the excitement while anticipating seeing the sun’s rays explode in an orange glow of the rock and mountain walls.

That’s the real treat, seeing the colors erupt all around you.

After about 40 minutes of sun-seeking, we were rewarded for our efforts as the rock faces to the west began to glisten, just a tiny bit at first, and then the whole thing. After about 10 minutes, all of Chisos was painted in sunlight.

Outside of our cottage at Chisos Mountain Lodge.

It was time for breakfast.

We chowed down in the lodge restaurant, and picked the brain of our server for spots to explore. Big Bend encompasses 1,252 square miles, so seeing all of it in a weekend is impossible. Our options also were limited since I would be running the Big Bend Ultra 50K the next day and Katie would be in the 25K so we wanted to rest our legs.

Our plan was established at breakfast. The races were on the east side of the park, so we’d head west to try to cover as much ground as possible.

We drove about 25 minutes, and then stopped for a quick 2-mile hike at the Upper Burro Mesa, and then returned to the road and drove to the Santa Elena Canyon that was carved by the Rio Grande. The canyon walls form a natural border between the United States and Mexico, although only Spiderman could really navigate a border crossing there.

The view from Santa Elena Canyon.

The canyon was beautiful, and its best views came from hiking a trail up one of the canyon walls and then looking back into the park the way we’d come for a panoramic view that extended for miles.

That was all the time we had for exploring before heading back to the lodge for packet pick-up and the pre-race dinner, but it was just enough of a taste to leave us wanting to make a return trip.

Most of Sunday was occupied by the race. I awoke at 5 a.m. for coffee and breakfast since my race started at 7:30. The girls got up an hour later since Katie’s 25K started at 8:30. I caught a ride to the starting line with two guys staying at Chisos, and the rest of the morning and early afternoon was spent on the run.

Javelina

We were at Rio Grande Village for most of at afternoon and evening. That’s where the post-race meal was, as well as showers and the medical tent. Katie and I both were in pretty bad shape from the race. I was torn up from 14-plus miles of calf cramps, and her stomach wasn’t good.

The sun had set by the time we hit the road.

Just as we’d arrived, we left in darkness. The absence of light pollution meant the sky is clear and lit up by the moon and stars. All around us we could make out the formation of mountains, then rolling hills before the park disappeared behind us and we rolled back toward civilization.

Big Bend was beautiful, and left us wanting more.

The plan was flawed from the beginning, but that was by design.

The 50K course for the Big Bend Ultra at Big Bend National Park was designed to be fast, meaning a personal record time was doable. Given that knowledge, the brain started churning and whipping up creative strategies. Take it easy, run smart, and collect a nice PR? Go slow and steady for the first 20 miles and conserve energy for a fast final third of the race? Nah.

At the starting line, a few minutes before sunrise.

Big Bend looked like PR central – not by a few minutes, but by leaps and bounds if approached aggressively.

Unlike many trail ultra marathon courses, Big Bend presented a unique opportunity to able to look around at the stunning mountain peaks, rock faces and hoodoos during the race and savor the visual pleasantries that the park offers, and still take a lot of risks that the course design might help recover from.

That was it; the plan was set. Time to live in the moment, put conservatism aside and find out what this body can do.

I headed to Big Bend with a race plan designed to go out fast, push, and hang on for as long as possible while tiptoeing on the edge of disaster in the desert. The expectation was to either run my perfect race or have the biggest race-day blowup of my trail running career.

No matter what, I wanted to live this race; feel this race; endure this race.

Current 50K PR: 6:22. Goal time: sub-5:30.

RISE AND SHINE

I woke up Sunday morning at 5 a.m. sharp, downed a cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal, and got dressed for the race. Another of the 50K runners, Beli, and his friend, Raj, offered to give me a ride to the starting line for the 7:30 a.m. start, which worked out perfectly so Katie and Erin could get an extra hour of sleep before Erin dropped off Katie for the 25K start at 8:30 a.m. It was pitch black on the drive to the start; stars still twinkled in the cloudless sky. The sun began to peek over the mountains in the distance five minutes before the race began.

The uphill climb to the finish line after 30.8 miles in the desert.

After a few words from the race director and a welcome from a National Park Service ranger, we were given final instructions.

Then … we were off.

I went out fast, exactly as I’d planned. The first mile was smooth with a mixture of flat and downhill. My legs felt fresh, so I relaxed and went with the flow. I’d planned to run a 9:00 or 9:30 pace, but instead knocked it out in 8:31 and claimed an early position in the top 10.

With the race underway and mile two mostly uphill, I shortened my stride, slowed the pace a bit and clocked a 9:44 mile. Mile three had a bit more uphill and then the start of a long downhill section. That’s when the race ramped up. After an 8:59 third mile, I committed to bombing down hills. My legs churned faster and faster while I focused on keeping my balance and my breathing under control. Mile four flew by in 7:53 – way too fast, I was well aware. I spent much of miles five, six, and seven looking around, admiring the stunning scenery and soaking in the moment. Those miles passed in 8:39, 8:21, and 8:19.

Mile eight – my fastest of the day – took just 7:51 as I cruised into the aid station where the 25K and 50K courses split.

I knew I was going faster than I’d intended to, but was fine with it. The plan was to push the limit, and I was determined to keep pushing.

Done! A new 50K PR of 5:14:20.

After refilling a water bottle and grabbing a handful of peanut butter-filled pretzels, I followed the branch in the trail to the right and was greeted by the most technical sections. I bombed a few more downhills, leaping over ruts, pushing off slanted rocks on the side, and bounding over the spots that offered the trickiest footing.

It dawned on me as I eclipsed the 10-mile mark that I’d never run 10 miles so fast in my life. It took just an hour and 22 minutes.  Again, this was way too fast. I was on pace for roughly a 4:15 finish – more than an hour ahead of my goal time.

My legs felt great, though. So did everything else. I wasn’t too hot, my stomach was fine and I was breathing with relative ease. Disaster was lurking. It had to be. This pace wasn’t sustainable. It was only a matter of time.

TICK, TICK, TICK…

A few gradual climbs dotted the next three miles, so I hiked a bit to conserve energy and do some extra hydrating. I hoped it would allow my body enough of a break so that the engines would rev back up when I wanted them to.

It did.

After my 10-mile PR fell, I started eyeballing my time for the half-marathon mark. I snacked quickly at the aid station at mile 12.75 and then headed back down the trail with my legs still feeling good. I crossed the 13.1-mile mark in 1:55, a full six minutes ahead of my half marathon personal best.

The next three miles were a blur. I settled into an easy rhythm as Springsteen serenaded me on my iPod. “Born to Run” was playing, and I was living it.

Keep pushing.

Before I knew it, I’d reached the halfway point and clocked a 25K PR of 2:24.

I couldn’t believe it. I’d never run so fast in a trail race. I’d never pushed so hard without serious suffering. It all seemed so easy.

That’s when it happened … the first pinch.

DANGER ZONE

It was faint; just a minor twitch. But I instantly knew what was about to happen.

The ease with which the first 16.5 miles had passed was over. The final 14.3 miles were going to more than make up for it.

Done.

I hadn’t managed my nutrition well. I’d taken in fluids and downed a few gels, but I hadn’t taken any salt. This race was in a desert, so my salt reserves were pretty much gone by the time I started popping S-caps to reload.

The brief pinch of my right calf cramping was followed promptly by a pinch in the left calf. I immediately stopped running and went into hiking mode for a few minutes. I hoped I could ward off the cramps with a few minutes of hiking. It was hopeless, however. Each time I started to run, cramps would return within a minute.

I grabbed a banana at the 19-mile aid station, but it didn’t help.

A few minutes later, a few runners passed me and I fell out of the top 10.

For a while I was able to run about a tenth of a mile before the calves would cramp and I’d go back to hiking. Eventually the spurts of running fell to intervals of .05 or .03 of a mile.

My quads were starting to go, too. They never cramped, but they were close.

While my legs were in bad shape, everything else seemed fine. My vision was clear, as was my brain, so I never doubted I could continue putting one foot in front of the other.

That’s how it played out the rest of the way. Put one foot in front of the other. Run a few steps, and then hike some more.

As much as my pace had slowed, another personal record was in sight. I kept marching on, and soon my marathon PR fell as I reached the 26.2-mile mark in 4:17:27, a 38-minute improvement on my 4:55 marathon at the 2011 Pilgrim Pacer that I ran with the stomach flu.

The final miles were more of the same, other than that the stretches of running continued to drop to .02 or .01 of a mile; sometimes only two or three strides. There were a couple of gradual climbs during the late miles, which also contributed to the slower pace.

Finally, the finish line was in sight. You could see it from a mile out as it was at the top of an 80-foot climb. I gritted my teeth and pushed the legs one last time, not wanting to walk the final tenth of a mile up to the finish. Ironically, it was the longest continuous stretch my legs were able to run since the cramps started more than 14 miles earlier. Even with my iPod in my ears, I could hear Erin and Katie cheering me through to the finish line as they snapped photos.

As I crossed the line, I was greeted with a high-five from another of the runners who’d already finished (The camaraderie of runners in this race was fantastic from start to finish. Lots of spirit and support on the trail!). Katie and Erin welcomed me with hugs and helped me stay upright. A medal was draped around my neck.

I was done.

RISK AND REWARD

My friend Coleen has a saying that is now common slang in the Kansas City-area trail running community. The saying is “Don’t go out like an asshole.” Simply put, it means don’t go out too fast and blow your race.

At Big Bend, I planned to break that rule and deal with the consequences. It had nothing to do with racing or placing compared to other runners. I wanted to learn more about my limits and find out how far and for how long I could push my legs. There’s only one way to find out those answers: push.

On this day, I pushed like I never have before.

There were some disastrous consequences, but that was at least partially because I followed my plan. Still, many of the results were beautiful: personal best times for 10 miles, half marathon, 25K and marathon. I also set a 50K PR by finishing in 5:14:20 – good for 18^th place overall.

SPLITS:

With Katie and Erin at the finish line. We had a blast on this trip!

Mile 1: 8:31

Mile 2: 9:45

Mile 3: 8:59

Mile 4: 7:53

Mile 5: 8:39

Mile 6: 8:21

Mile 7: 8:19

Mile 8: 7:51

Mile 9: 8:57

Mile 10: 8:15

Mile 11: 8:34

Mile 12: 10:01

Mile 13: 10:09

Mile 14: 8:37

Mile 15: 9:37

Mile 16: 8:45

Mile 17: 10:59

Mile 18: 11:00

Mile 19: 10:22

Mile 20: 12:56

Mile 21: 11:26

Mile 22: 10:01

Mile 23: 10:27

Mile 24: 12:12

Mile 25: 12:27

Mile 26: 12:35

Mile 27: 13:49 (included bathroom break)

Mile 28: 11:52

Mile 29: 12:27

Mile 30: 11:39

Mile 31: 10:47

Desperation can be identified in many forms.

Some might point to a rash decision made when one has lost hope. Others might make references to running away.

To me, desperation is a grown man and retired athlete rolling with an entourage at a small media gathering where the entourage matches the assembled media in size almost one-to-one, and said entourage’s sole purpose is to serve as a question-blocking shield.

That’s what did it for me.

I always assumed Lance Armstrong took something – maybe not steroids, maybe not EPO or blood transfusions, but something – to help him win seven Tour de France titles from 1999-2005. Maybe it wasn’t something illegal and sinister, but something. And to be honest, I didn’t really care. Most, if not all, athletes at a high level take some sort of supplementation to help their bodies recover from the daily beatings of training and competition. Maybe it’s creatine powder, protein shakes or energy gels. But we aren’t all bouncing back every day thanks to a few glasses of water, a big salad, and some chocolate milk.

Also, so many elite cyclists have been busted for doping, that it wasn’t hard to connect the dots that if all of these other guys are cheating but none of them can beat this one other guy for seven straight years …

My perspective shifted drastically almost two years ago.  It was early March 2011, and I had my first of two journalistic, up-close encounters with Armstrong. The cyclist’s cancer-fighting charity, LIVESTRONG, was given naming rights to Kansas City’s new, state-of-the-art Major League Soccer stadium, so he was in town to help make the announcement.

Lance Armstrong was in Kansas City in March 2011 to help with the announcement that his cancer charity, LIVESTRONG, had been given naming rights to Kansas City’s new soccer stadium. Photo by Chris Wristen

I was one of maybe a dozen media members there to cover it, along with the Kansas City Star, the Associated Press, Metro Sports, and a few other TV stations. Locally, it was a huge story. Nationally, not so much.

Still, Armstrong wouldn’t be taking any chances.

Actually, let me rephrase that: Armstrong wouldn’t be taking any questions.

Prior to the press conference, we were informed of how the well-choreographed event would go. Sporting KC CEO Robb Heineman, LIVESTRONG president and CEO Doug Ulman, Armstrong, and Sporting KC co-owner Cliff Illig would be seated on the stage in front of us. They would make the naming rights announcement. Heineman would speak for a bit, and then Armstrong would speak for a few minutes. Afterward, Armstrong would leave so the others could take questions. The others also would be available for follow-up interviews afterward. Armstrong – as was his custom anywhere he went – would not.

And really, why would he want to stick around and field questions about how the charity he founded had been given – not paid for – stadium naming rights? I mean, that’s pretty impressive exposure for a charity, so why wouldn’t he want to talk about it? Armstrong’s fear, of course, was that somebody – whether it was in Kansas City’s local media on this day, or at other media gatherings elsewhere – would differ from the script and ask him about doping allegations.

Sure enough, Armstrong entered the room and was quickly whisked to the stage.

About 30 minutes later, an entourage of at least a half-dozen people surrounded Armstrong as he exited, creating a reporter-buffer just in case one of us decided to bail on the press conference, chase him down the hall, and try to pester him about allegations of drug use during his cycling career.

Yes, this entire set-up reeked of desperation on Armstrong’s part. The man with supposedly nothing to hide found it necessary to be guarded at all times, even during events as choreographed as this stadium naming rights announcement.

My second up-close look at Armstrong came a few months later when I was on the field at LIVESTRONG Sporting Park taking photos as Armstrong addressed a sold-out crowd prior to the inaugural game at the stadium. He had an entourage again, although it made much more sense in this setting (give a quick speech, then get up to his suite to watch the game without being hounded for autographs).

Lance Armstrong addresses the crowd at the grand opening of LIVESTRONG Sporting Park in Kansas City in June 2011. Photo by Chris Wristen

That small press gathering in March left me with little doubt that Armstrong was as guilty as the years of allegations claimed he was.

Still, I didn’t really care. I still don’t.

Perhaps that makes me a hypocrite, considering I have no sympathy for steroid users being kept out of the baseball Hall of Fame. Not being outraged at Armstrong cheating in cycling simply because so many of the others in his sport were is completely hypocritical. So is not being outraged about his use of performance-enhancing drugs because he has done so much good for the cancer community. It’s completely hypocritical. I admit that.

Maybe it’s the journalist in me, but my enjoyment of Armstrong is the tremendous complexity to the story. It’s absolutely fascinating. There’s the story he has tried so hard to convince us of for more than a decade; there’s the stories his supporters and detractors have convinced themselves of; and there’s the truth. Heck, there are even more stories woven into those.

And they all come back to desperation. There was the desperation of the man to simply win at whatever he did as a young athlete, and then there was the desperation of the man to win his battle with a blend of cancers that were attacking his body in so many different ways that survival seemed impossible. After that, there was his desperation to get back to the top of his sport. Then there was the desperation to keep the wolves at bay – whether those wolves were drug testers, angry ex-teammates, or nosy media members – who wanted to expose his story.

Now that he has been banned from competing in most athletic competitions and had his seven Tour titles stripped, Armstrong is desperate to get his life back.

On Monday, he will sit down with Oprah at his home in Texas for what’s reported to be a “no holds barred” interview. He is expected to confess to using performance-enhancing drugs during his cycling career.

It’s the next chapter in Armstrong’s thriller novel of a life that surprises me in so many ways while not surprising me at all in others. As was the case before, I don’t much care if he comes clean. Reality has been clear for a long time.

My only hope is that when Oprah’s big interview happens, she doesn’t have to filter her questions through an entourage of strategically placed bodyguards and media shields and instead is able to usher in a creative new chapter in the Armstrong story: the truth.

Photo by Brooks Running

Gear purchases are always exciting, whether it’s a new backpack, stove or tent for my camping arsenal, or trail running gear.

Today I added two new pieces to the latter, and they’ll arrive in time to put them into action next Sunday at Big Bend.

First, I ordered a new pair of kicks. I still have a few hundred miles left in my fourth pair of Brooks Adrenaline ASR 8s, but I went ahead and got my first pair of ASR 9s. My Brooks – all of the 8s, and the three or four pair of ASR 7s that I also wore – required zero time to break them in. They were trail ready right out of the box and made my feet very happy. I’ll take my 8s with me to Texas, but I’ll likely race in the 9s. Can’t wait to slide my feet in them for the first time and pound some dirt!

Photo by Ultimate Direction

Also, I upgraded my hydration system. I’ve worn a Nathan pack for about a year and a half, and it has been great. The straps are stretched out now, however, and it just doesn’t fit as well as I’d like. I’ve been really impressed with the products that Ultimate Direction has been putting out, so today I ordered their Signature Series AK Race Vest. It weights 6 ounces, has two water bottle pouches on the front, and has a rear compartment for a water bladder or gear. It should fit much better, move with my body, and the dual chest straps should keep it from riding up on my chest.

Other than shoes, I don’t expect to spend much money upgrading gear this year, but the Ultimate Direction pack is a wise investment.

I’m not going to lie; I’m getting pretty stoked to kick off my 2013 racing season at the Big Bend Ultra Run 50K next Sunday at Big Bend National Park in Texas.

I can’t wait to hop in the car with Erin and Katie in Austin and make the seven-hour drive to West Texas. I can’t wait to get to the park and see the sun set over the Rio Grande. I can’t wait to go exploring. I can’t wait to run!

The good folks who organize the race have put together a video showing some of the course. Here it is.

Multi-day, two-legged adventures will be a common theme in 2013.

In addition to a week-long backpacking trip with my best friend later in the year – possibly in the Adirondacks, Cascades, Smokies, or Appalachian Mountains – this year’s trail running slate will include two three-day stage races in the mountains.

March will take me – along with more than a dozen of my Kansas City trail running friends – to Mountain View, Arkansas, for 3 Days of Syllamo, a three-day stage race in the Ozark Mountains that starts with a 50K, followed by a 50-miler, and then a 20K (which, I’m told, is actually at least 25K). All told, there’ll be more than 27,000 feet of climbing on gorgeous single-track trails.

In June I’ll head to Chattanooga, Tennessee, for a stage race that first caught my eye last year – shortly after it had reached capacity. The Chattanooga Mountains Stage Race is a three-day, 60-mile mountain event with about 6,700 total feet of climbing that begins with an 18-mile run on Raccoon Mountain, followed by a 22-miler on Lookout Mountain and a 20-miler on Signal Mountain.

Other races will include the Big Bend Ultra Run 50K at Big Bend National Park in Texas; Psycho Psummer in Kansas City, Kansas; and both Dogwood Canyon and “Dude, Where’s the Trail?” in Missouri. That makes for races in a minimum of five states in 2013 – with a possible addition in Colorado, where I’m already going to pace Sherrie Klover at the Leadville Trail 100.

The schedule is still in flux, but the biggies – both stage races – are official as I registered this morning for Chattanooga. I’ve been registered for Big Bend for months, and Leadville also is official as Sherrie signed up minutes after registration opened.

Here’s a breakdown of my total running mileage by month for 2012.

I finished with six months of 100-plus-mile efforts – the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth times I’ve ever run 100 miles in a month.

The 182 miles in June were my most ever, followed by 150 in December and 148 in November.

I don’t know exactly what my previous best yearly total is, but I’m certain this year was a record by at least 500 miles. I haven’t set a mileage goal for 2013, however I did sign up for DailyMile’s 1,500-mile challenge. As long as I stay injury-free, I think that’s realistic, but it’s not a target.